


A Head of Time

by alivehawk1701



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fanart, Ficlet, Hannibal Extended Universe, He talks to a severed head, Loneliness, M/M, Mads on Mads, Murder, The Green Butchers - Freeform, bad breakup, but not, like hamlet, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivehawk1701/pseuds/alivehawk1701
Summary: Svend, of the Green Butchers, speaks to the severed head of his ex-girlfriend and feels that perhaps he is unlovable, but a kind stranger (our own Hannibal Lecter living in Denmark) breaths some life into him.For all and anyone that feels unlucky in love. I'm unsure how to put a warning on this fic, it's not graphic for Fannibals but want people to know that the subject matter and the art (my own illustration) is on the macabre side. Enjoy nonetheless.
Relationships: Svend/Hannibal, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	A Head of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Svend doesn't get a lot of attention in the Hannibal extended universe, I found but for me, he really really touched my heart. Hence this fic. Also I was meant to be working on a sunny, sweaty, happy, Cuba fic but had terrible writers block and now, having written this, I wonder why. My mind is in a different place than happy and sunny.

Bjarne and Astrid had left on holiday. Business had taken a sharp downward turn after all that had happened. We still had customers come to the shop, familiar faces, but they all shuffled in with their downward faces and their under their breath whispers only to take their meat and leave. My time in the sun, I suppose. I wanted to believe it was just because it was winter. People weren’t having barbeques. I stocked the case with beautiful rump roasts and pork shoulders hoping that people would enjoy cozy weekends, compliments of our commitment to fine meats and quality service, but in truth I knew the real reason. The novelty had worn off. And rumours flew like bats. Just what had been behind those butcher’s success, they wondered, why were they investigated? 

The tiles were dull and grey at the shop, even at midday, the same colour as the sky outside. Winter, my mind explained. Just the winter. I stood at the counter as long as I could then went to the backroom. They’d even taken Eigil with them on holiday. Without them the bubble had popped. For a moment we’d felt like family. I’d been happy. Why had I ever thought it would last? They didn’t need me. They didn’t want me. 

Watch the shop, Bjarne had said, call the repairman for the bone crusher, he’d said. And I’d just said okay. I’m fine. Go ahead. Go have fun. Because I know the truth. I’m a difficult person to be around. I’m creepy. Awkward. Nervous. Like a cheese grater to the senses. Dripping sweat and shuffling about like some sort of creature. An unlovable creature. So let Bjarne have Astrid and his holiday. Let them move on. Without me. I’ll be alone. I can be alone. Those deep grooves are easy to fall back into at this point. No matter any fantasies I’d had. Bjarne had found Astrid in a graveyard. Who does that? Who meets someone, by chance, in a graveyard of all places, and falls in love? A tiny spark in me wanted to believe it was just a matter of time but reality snuffed out that idea. Every day, every year, that passes only enforces how unlikely it is that I’ll find someone. My lip curled just at the thought; desperation reeks and I smell enough. No wonder no one wants me.

My eyes turned to the freezer. I knew what I was doing, knew I wouldn’t stop, even as I entered the freezer and grabbed the plastic bag far far in the back I was disgusted with myself. She’s dead. Long dead. I’d killed her. She no longer cared about what I said or did or what I didn’t say or didn’t do. She couldn’t hurt me anymore. 

For weeks after she was gone I still heard her voice in my head, the perfect pitch and tone of her voice that used to make me wrap my arms around myself and curl into a ball. So when I pulled the plastic back I was shocked to find her silent. Only the hum of the freezer, the slight rattle of the windows from the strong wind outside. Nothing from her.

After all, she was just a head.

I don’t know why I’d kept it. I’d taken it out several times when Bjarne wasn’t in the shop. Again, I’m not sure why. Part of me missed her. But everytime I took out her head and looked at the face of the woman I knew, the woman that broke my heart, I was met with the same thing. Her brow frozen in a crease, white eyes wide and lips twisted into her most beloved expression that wordlessly said “what’s wrong with you?” and “why are you the way that you are?”. She’d died thinking that. She’d even laughed before I brought the meat hammer down on her head. It was the last time she’d ever laugh at me.

I picked up the severed head, her frozen hair falling around my hands and held her eyes level with mine. 

“Did you ever really love me?” I asked her, remembering all the times she’d said it. Sailing in the bay. The sun shining like copper through her hair. In bed. When I was most vulnerable, lying naked in sweat drenched sheets hoping, fooling myself that what my brain was experiencing was real. Believing her words. Flimsy rice paper words. I brought my face closer to the frozen, grey skin, “What’s love without acceptance?” She’d never really known me. Never wanted to. She’d wanted my steaks. Wanted my body when it suited her. But when I did show myself, my truth self, she recoiled, or laughed, or shrugged it off like turning a page on some dime store novel. She perverted the word love. She used it. Like she’d used me. I’d just been too blind to see it. No. Not blind. Naive. Stupid.

I looked into her eyes, sunken deep in their sockets and thought I could still see resentment in those icy depths, “Were you incapable of the real thing?” I demanded of her, the words shaking as they came out of my mouth, “Or was I?” she gave no response, even in death her knowing gaze brought a whimper from me, “Were you right about me?”

When the tears spilled down my cheeks, it wasn't until I tasted them on my lips that I was broken from her spell. Suddenly I didn't want my hands on her ever again. I wanted to let her go. Get rid of her for good. I’m done. 

Licking at the salty tears I tucked her head under my arm, at my hip, and wiped my nose on my sleeve. She’d go in the garbage. To rot with the rest of the dead meat. I wasn’t going to do this to myself anymore. I knew the answer to all these questions and I didn’t want to ask them anymore. 

I pushed out the back door, into the alley and was met with a cold wind across my wet skin. Always wet skin. My eyes raised to the sky and I prayed for strength to finally do this. Come on, Svend, I urged myself, each footstep feeling like through concrete. She can no longer haunt you this way. 

Only when I reached the bin did I notice the other man in the alley. I stopped mid step and my mouth dropped open. He had a plastic bag of his own, one which was also full of dead meat. A leg. A hand. Human meat. 

He’d seen me at just the same moment and for an instant we both remained where we were, unmoving, considering each other like someone would consider a painting in a gallery. He was tall, like me, thin, like me; his hair was lighter, blown over his face haphazardly by the wind, over the same amber eyes as my own. But instead of a sweat stained apron he was wearing a suit and tie and a long grey coat the same colour of the clouds.

He set down his bag, “Good afternoon,” he said in Danish.

“Good afternoon,” I echoed, all too aware of Tina’s head on my hip.

“A storm is blowing in,” he said casually.

“It’s taking it’s time,” I said, heart rate increasing to a gallop as he took one step toward me.

“Is this your shop?” he asked, eyes only dropping for a moment to what I was carrying then back up to my eyes with a small smirk and unwavering eye contact.

“Yes.”

“Is that your severed head?”

“Not mine. Tina’s,” I quickly broke that breathtaking eyes contact to look at his scattering of limbs, “Are those your body parts?”

“Just table scraps.”

I gulped and felt myself start to shake, “We’re at an impasse.”

“It seems we are,” he appeared overly calm and incredibly confident considering the dismembered company we kept, “Who was Tina?”

I felt myself twitch, my lower lip catching on my teeth, “My girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend.”

“She has a sour expression on her face.”

“More so now.”

He took a breath, considering this for a moment, “Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt,” he recited this as almost an afterthought, eyes distant like someone trying to recalling a distant memory, “Or as my daughter would say,” he quirked an eyebrow, “If she don't love you anymore, just walk your fine ass out the door, “ he smiled at this.

I frowned. Repositioned Tina’s head in my arms. So I was an easy book to read. Here, outside my shop on a winter's day with tear stained cheeks and the severed head of my ex girlfriend in my arms. The age old tale, I scoffed internally. But even as I felt as if I was being summed up yet again under the usual constraints of a pitiable fool and a disgusting cretin I saw his expression change and he took a step forward. He forced my gaze to his and it steadied me, locking me into place. Not disgusted. Not pitied.

He put his hand to my face, tenderly, warm against the grey landscape, “Your worth isn’t dependent on how much someone does or doesn’t love you. You are inherently worthy of love. Love exists,” he sighed then, almost whimsical, “The only conclusion to be gained from this experience is that you are stronger for it and, ultimately, you are one hurt closer to the real thing. And believe me. When you see it, feel it, you will be shocked at the shadow that you were nearly ready to settle for.”

Then, surprisingly, he leaned forward to place a warm chaste kiss to my lips. The brief, wet, wide eyed contact was over before I could even realize it but his hand remained, despite my wet, sweaty skin, searching somehow for acknowledgment, understanding from me. 

He’d kissed me. Me. He wasn’t repulsed. He’d said exactly what I needed to hear. What my broken shards of a heart needed. Wanted. Feared I would never get. And from a stranger.

I didn't know what else to do, the echo of his lips on mine was stealing my breath so all I could do was nod.

He stepped back, seemingly satisfied, “I’m Hannibal, by the way.”

“Svend,” I said breathlessly.

“My husband and I live in your neighborhood,” he commented, picking up his bag again, “Perhaps we could rely on each other's discretion,” he threw the bag in the bin, “So rare is it to find like-minded people these days.”

“Yes,” I said, finally stepping forward to deposit Tina’s head into the bin, “I would like that.”

“Good evening, Svend,” Hannibal nodded and turned, upturning his collar to the wind, over his shoulder saying, “Blue skies tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I agreed and as I shivered in the chill air he left as soon as he’d arrived. For a strangled moment I let myself feel hopeful, assured for a crystalline moment by an utter stranger that I am not unloveable. Not at all. That perhaps there is no way of knowing what tomorrow will bring.

<https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/alivehawk1701/86757254/758/758_original.jpg>

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you enjoyed. I needed this. Thought other people might as well. It's terribly lonely out there and finding real love is hard. I needed Hannibal to comfort me (Svend) somewhat. There is nothing wrong with you, whomever you are, you are good and perfect and whoever broke your heart isn't right for you anyway. Pay it no mind. Also the art is mine yes, the only time I've ever done Mads/fanart. If someone wants to use it post it elsewhere, I'm cool with it, so long as you let me know. I'm not on social medias, apart from this, but if someone wants to colour it, improve it, whatever, go ahead, as I've said, Svend deserve more attention than he has. Comment/kudos, thanks for being here for me, we are all, afterall, only human.


End file.
